On My Way
by TheSilentPen
Summary: "I'm on my way, Rachel... We're on our way." Rachel Berry passes away without warning. The members of New Directions struggle with their sadness.  Especially Quinn Fabray. Character death, unspoken love.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or any of its characters.

**A/N:** We've had a lot of people passing around the area. A person formerly in our music group recently passed. I wrote this oneshot out in my composition book during a music rehearsal and couldn't decide whether or not to post it. But I've decided to post it despite the angst. There are sad stories and happy ones. This story is a sad one.

I'd appreciate your comments, if you'd like to leave them. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

* * *

><p><strong>On My Way<strong>

TheSilentPen

* * *

><p>No one expected it.<p>

She'd been the brightest star. The one person out of the hundreds turned out of McKinley's sad halls that _everyone_ unanimously agreed would make something of herself.

She was out of place in Ohio. In that filthy little town where time seemed to drag monotonously forward, stubbornly trapping its inhabitants beneath it. But Lima could not trap her in its steadfast grip. She shone brighter than the darkest doldrums of that ugly little trap.

She'd make Lima, Ohio famous. Set it on the map. Become a household name and laugh down at all the people who belittled her in high school. Scrape away the scars of verbal abuse and grin triumphantly at her oppressors as she sipped some champagne in some high class bar far away from this pathetic place.

But it was not to be.

The news came without warning. Without reason.

It came bright and early Wednesday morning during second period Spanish III HP. You swirled your pen across the lined pages of your green Five Star spiral while Mr. Schue lectured about the gerund for the fifth time that week.

Mr. Figgins, in his customary brown suit, strode into the room with a grim crease to his brow. He whispered quietly in Mr. Schue's ear, eyeing the semi-concious class with apprehension. A broad, dark hand rested on one of Mr. Schue's shoulders as he guided him just outside the door of the classroom.

Your eyes flickered about the room, surveying each bored countenance. Puck kissed each bulging bicep and waggled his brow saucily at a young Cheerio. Brittany stared blankly into the distance, mouth agape and eyes wide. Santana, beside you, muttered angrily in a mixture of broken Spanish and English curses.

The chair before you was empty, lonely without the vibrant presence of its usual possessor, waving her eager hand aloft.

Rachel Berry. The bane of your existence. The obnoxious, egotistical girl with her big heart, big dreams, and her big voice.

The victim of your pointed verbal abuse…

…And the object of your affection.

It started in sixth grade. You joined the school's elite as a Junior Cheerleader, eager to get ahead in life. Ready to claim your place atop Belleville's social pyramid.

You walked down the hall, chin held high, filled to the brim with self-confidence. The crowd parted to make way for you. Boys wanted you. Girls wanted to _be_ you.

People spoke of you in earnest.

Everything was as it should have been.

You followed the Fabray family plan. You were envied, beautiful, sinless and graceful in the eyes of your peers. In three years you'd take McKinley by storm and have the Quarterback eating out of your hands. You'd be Prom Queen, get married, be the perfect wife, have children, and live in Lima for the rest of your life.

Nothing would get in your way. The plan was flawless.

At least… it _had_ been.

Until you took a fall, your things clattering to the floor whilst the once wide-eyed throng snickered at your downed figure.

Humiliation burned at your cheeks. Confidence vanished, sucked away by the fall. The wondrous, bright blue hue of your uniform cheapened to gaudy polyester.

The mask you built to hide stupid, awkward fifth grade Lucy shattered and fell in shards to reveal that sniveling, awkward little girl.

You scrambled on your scarred hands and clumsily glued everything together, pulling Quinn Fabray back as you fixed a glare to your features, looking up at your usurper.

Air was stolen from your lungs as hazel met the most beautiful pair of brown eyes you'd ever seen.

Hues of deep red and earthy brown swirled in tandem. The warmth in those eyes sends shivers down your spine… reaches out to you, makes you feel _comforted_ in ways your parents have _never_ been able to.

Dark, chocolate bangs fall into those eyes, cascading in delicate waves about slight shoulders. Full, red lips whisper silent apologies as petite hands hurried shuffle your things together and push them gently into your hands.

A rich, melodic voice floats to your ears. Tanned hands pull you up from the floor as you gaze down at this… _person_, anger drained from your veins and your mouth dry.

Your heart _pounds_ in your chest as this small, _beautiful_ girl dressed in ugly attire merely shoots you a smile and starts off down the hall toward her next class.

Your arms tighten around your binder as you grind your teeth, frustration filling every recess of your once hazy thoughts.

That _girl_…

She _ignored_ you. Treated you like…

Like you weren't… _special_.

A mere week later, you learn her name after Santana Lopez, one of your newest friends, lashes out at her during music class.

Rachel Berry ,you learn, is an annoyingly persistent, obnoxiously verbose singer with huge goals and two gay fathers.

She harps endlessly on about her inevitable future on Broadway and her _amazing_ voice. She's an annoyance to the whole of your class. Everyone shuns her.

But everyone _knows_ that Rachel Berry is the only person guaranteed to make it out of this little town and make it big.

It's one of the reasons why everyone hates her so much.

You spend your time making Rachel's life a living Hell.

You throw slushies at her, demean her with every insult in the book, leave rude messages on her MySpace account.

But Rachel turns her cheek. Grins and bears it.

It's frustrating, the way she can still look into your eyes without malice in those dark orbs. The way she could throw you a smile after you tossed a grape slushy in her face (you knew that it was her favorite from the way she licked her lips) and greet you warmly.

No one should have been that perfect.

_No one_ should be like Rachel Berry, who looked at you with those smiling eyes every day for the next four years, all through Freshman and Sophomore year.

She should hate you, revile you.

But she doesn't. _Rachel_ doesn't hate you.

It's like… she's _incapable_ of hatred.

And that makes you _detest_ her even more.

Your freshman year of High School, you manage to snag Finn Hudson, the school's quarterback, as your boyfriend.

He's a little too low in the IQ department, but he's sweet in a dopey sort of way, and he never asks for much.

You ignore the fact that his kisses feel too slobbery, that his stone hard body feels awkward against yours… that you feel _nothing_ for him.

He's just another step on the plan, so you take advantage of it.

After all, it could be worse.

You _could_ be dating Noah Puckerman, the school's resident manwhore.

But several months into Sophomore year, Finn's eyes begin to wander.

They land on Rachel Berry and her little nerd club.

You can see his stupid gaze linger a little bit too long on those _long_, tanned legs that peer from beneath Rachel's indecently short skirts (you shake the fact that you notice this from your head). You see the way he looks at her as though she's the sun, moon, and sky whenever she opens indescribably soft lips to _sing_ in that voice that seems _far_ too large for her body.

You're losing him, and it makes that _hatred_ for Rachel grow.

She's destroying your plans.

You confront Rachel, cornering her in the hallway and turning up the frequency of your slushy attacks.

One day, after two consecutive attacks, you corner her in the bathroom to _end_ this ridiculous fling once and for all.

Rachel takes each blow in stride, despite the fact she looks _extremely_ uncomfortable in her slushy-stained white shirt. The fire flares up in her eyes as she parts her lips to lecture you.

The movement of a single, muscled arm draws attention to the nearly _see-through_ white shirt, clinging to Rachel's shapely form.

Your mouth goes dry and something unpleasant coils in your abdomen. The words falling from Rachel's mouth seem to lose volume as hazel orbs trace every inch of previously hidden curves. Your palms grow sweaty and… _God_, you could make out the black fabric of a _lacy_ bra beneath that hideously formal shirt.

It's only when a very _noticeable_ twinge low in your belly makes its presence known that you draw yourself to attention.

Because _God_… This has never happened before.

This feeling? This uncomfortable coiling throbbing at you?

…It _shouldn't_ be happening with _Rachel Berry_.

You _shouldn't_ be aroused by the one person you **hate** more than anything in the world.

Verbal venom pours from your mouth. Your fight-or-flight instincts at an all time high. This is _dangerous_… this _isn't supposed to happen_.

You ignore the wounded flash in Rachel's eyes, ignore the annoying twinge in your heart and flee out of the bathroom.

You don't know _how_ you got there, but you find yourself sitting in your bedroom, sliding slowly against your locked door, sobbing and trembling.

It has to be some sort of fluke. Maybe you 're _off_ today.

But your mind goes back to the memory of slushy stained Rachel Berry, with her _tight_ fitting clothes…

It goes back to _every_ moment you've _ever_ seen Rachel. Every half-hazard glance you've thrown at her _body_… and a burst of realization shocks your mind and sends a fresh heaving series of sobs ringing through the walls of your room.

Because this…?

Being _gay_ isn't part of the Fabray family plan.

The next few years are a struggle. You sleep with Noah Puckerman to try to fuck the gay out of you. You lose your daughter and gain back your parents. You quit Glee Club, then join again. You start to date Finn again, then lose him to Rachel.

But through it all, Rachel is somehow still there.

She offers you support, friendship. Offers you her _home_ and at some point, even _money_ to help you out during baby gate because Finn can't support the medical bills.

You throw salt in her eyes, kick and spit because being in _love_ with Rachel Berry isn't something that you could have planned.

You wanted to hate her. Because all of _this?_ The way your life is so _far_ off track?

It's _her_ fault.

But everything that Rachel did made you love her more.

She's the only person who genuinely cared about you. The _only_ person who's ever seemed to really give a fuck.

By the middle of senior year, you are tentative friends.

You've started to think that _maybe_ things can work out.

_Maybe_ being in love with Rachel is okay…

Maybe it can lead somewhere.

But you haven't seen her in three days. She hasn't been at school all week.

She hasn't texted or called…

She's _gone_.

Your eyes flicker up from Rachel's empty chair as Mr. Schue staggers back into the classroom, his eyes are glassy and red, tears running in fresh streams and staining the white fabric of his dress shirt.

He closes the door behind him, leaning heavily against it as the whole of the class stares, wide-eyed upon him.

His shoulders heave with dry sobs as he turns, dragging his feet to the front of the classroom, slamming the projector's off button with uncharacteristic aggression.

He looks up, face aged as he swallows heavily, opening his mouth several times, wanting to speak, his tears choking the words before they can make it through.

Mr. Schue asks Brittany to fetch the other Glee Clubbers in a weak, strangled voice.

Brittany looks confused. The emotion etched into the innocent curve of her brow and in alight in the blue of her eyes. Nevertheless, she gives a nod and pulls herself from her seat, striding out into the hallway.

The bell rings and the rest of the class shuffles out, reluctant to leave. The remaining Glee Clubbers file inside the cramped quarters of the classroom and take their seats, glancing nervously at each other.

_None_ of you could possibly anticipate Mr. Schue's next words.

"Rachel passed away yesterday."

The air is stolen from your lungs. It feels as though somebody's sucker punched you. Your heart beats wildly, throbbing painfully. Your ears ring and the world seems to spin about you.

It _can't_ be.

The room is utterly silent, a thick sheet of disbelief heavy among the Glee Clubbers as they sit there, staring at Mr. Schue as though he's gone mad.

"…Is this a joke?" You hear Kurt say.

"You can't be serious, Mr. Schue," Mercedes says somewhere off to your right.

But Mr. Schue doesn't _look_ like he's joking. Instead, the tears drip from his eyes further as he shakes his head. You can seek him visibly shake as he draws air into his lungs before he begins speaking softly.

You hear something about a 'fatal asthma attack' and 'tried to save her' fall from Mr. Schue's mouth as terror floods into every pore of your body.

Because Rachel? She _can't_ be dead. She was alive on Sunday.

She messaged you on Facebook to talk about the English project on Hamlet. She said _goodnight_ to you.

She was _alive_.

Mr. Schue _has_ to be lying.

The crash of metal against the classroom's tiled floors wakes you from your stupor. Finn's agonized wails fill your ears as Mike, Sam, Blaine, and Kurt fight to calm him.

Finn's features are creased into a mask of utter _pain_. Streaks of salty water fall to the floor as he fights against his friends with monstrous strength. Rachel's name falls continuously from his lips as he claws madly at his hair, weeping like a child.

Kurt's slight form embraces his trembling brother's as he bites his lip, silent tears falling from his eyes as he fights to hold himself together.

Brittany looks _devastated_, clinging to a shell-shocked Santana red-eyed, her shoulders shaking.

Puck's smug features are empty, devoid of any emotion. His eyes, the same dark hue as Rachel's, shadowed by the room's faulty lighting.

And you?

You don't cry. You don't break down and lose control over your emotions.

Because you can't feel _anything_.

You feel numb.

The world is silent. You fail to hear Finn's anguished cries or the Brittany's dry sobs. Everything seems to be on mute.

Because suddenly, you're recalling things.

Things you should've _known_ were strange.

The way Rachel would pant heavily after every dance session. The labored rise and fall of her chest after each of your fights.

The almost _pained_ look upon her face after Regionals set had been completed.

It'd been right under your noses the entire time. Rachel's sickness.

And you'd _never_ known.

The numbness does not leave you for the rest of the day.

The day had gone by in a strange blur. You walked from class to class, hazels devoid of emotion whilst the people move about you in the halls.

During fourth period announcements, there's a moment of silence for Rachel. The news spreads through the school like wildfire until Rachel's death has reached every goddamned person in the entire school.

The emptiness in your chest lasts till you reach home.

Your door closes with an echoing 'click.'

And the latch on your emotions finally falls.

Pain slams into your chest like a freight train. You somehow manage to stagger blindly to your bed as dry sobs begin to wrack your chest.

In your mind's eye, you can see Rachel there, smiling brightly at you the first day you met her, brown eyes mixing with those unearthly, soft hues of red warmth.

You can see the curve of her lips, the fall of her hair down her perfect neck.

You can see the _life_ in her eyes.

And it _kills_ you…

Because she _isn't_ alive anymore.

You taste blood in your mouth, barely registering the sharp point of your teeth biting into your cheek as you fight the urge to throw the furniture about your room.

Rachel is gone. Dead.

Robbed of life. Robbed of the _chance_ to go to Broadway.

A great light feels gone from the world.

Her _star_ is gone.

You'd _never_ get to apologize for all the shit you'd pulled on her. You'd _never_ get to further your friendship.

…You'd **never** get to tell her how you _really_ felt.

That you _loved_ her.

Over the next few days, Glee meetings are silent. No one feels like performing.

Instead, everyone sits in the choir room, heads bowed, looking at the empty chair front and center, talking quietly amongst each other.

Somewhere along the line, the dots are connected. The cause of the empty chair more readily apparently with each passing day and the slow completion of each of the tests run during Rachel's autopsy.

Rachel had gone to dance practice on Sunday as usual to work on her NYADA audition tape. She'd danced for two hours straight with little rest between each take till she'd deemed everything perfect. A mild asthma bout fixed itself about her lungs and she'd reached into her bag to get the inhaler.

An inhaler which she'd forgotten at home.

Rachel's dance teacher hurriedly dialed 911 as her student fell to the floor, choking and gasping for air.

The attack grew in severity, leaving the singer unconscious, unable to breathe.

The teacher hurriedly pressed her mouth against her student's, pumping at her chest in a desperate attempt to keep her alive.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Rachel had gone six minutes without oxygen. They managed to stabilize her with a breathing tube, rushing her to the hospital.

Despite the fact that her heart pumped readily with the help of machines, tests revealed that Rachel was already gone.

Brain dead.

Nothing could be done for her. _Nothing_ could bring Rachel back into the still living shell of her body.

She was lost forever.

Her fathers were beside themselves with grief. It took two days for them to finally gather the decision to unplug the machines.

Rachel passed Tuesday at 11:00 PM with her Fathers grasping her hands and family standing about her hospital bed as doctors pulled the plug on the ventilator and denied oxygen to her damaged body.

She left the world contrary to the way she lived her life.

Quietly.

The morning of Rachel's viewing comes without warning. You somehow find yourself standing outside the mahogany door of _Rachel's_ room.

The small, silver coffin taunts you from the door with its ornate, chiseled surface. An ornate etching of musical notes winds its way around the sides. Small lines of Hebrew blessings melted in delicate gold filigree fall about the patterning.

The rest of the Glee Club is standing about the coffin, heads lowered in respect, grief stark on their features.

Puck is bent over the small coffin, reaching in with a pained expression wrought across his features. The click of your heels against the tiled floor causes him to raise agonized brown eyes to meet your own.

Those eyes send a fresh tremor of grief coursing through your veins. Because they're _so_ like Rachel's that it makes your heart throb unpleasantly.

It's one of the reasons _why_ you'd slept with Puck in the first place, you realize bitterly in the split second.

The pain in his eyes is real. You know it well enough because that'd been the same look on his face when the adoption agent snatched Beth from his arms and walked her out of your lives.

Rachel had been one of his closest friends, you realize as you observe the redness in his eyes, the weariness etched into his features, and the stubble on his chin.

He'd grown close to her. Always defended her.

Though their relationship had ended abruptly and fizzled out into some sort of respectful understanding, Rachel had always meant _something_ special to Noah Puckerman.

Just like she'd meant something to _you_.

Puck's large hand leaves the coffin as he rights himself again, making slow strides toward your tense figure. He takes you gently by the hand, that melancholy, resigned look begging you to step forward.

"Come say goodbye to her," he says softly. There's an imploring edge to his voice and a deep understanding in those dark eyes.

You allow yourself to be guided forward. His arm goes gently about your waist as you near the coffin in a gesture of support rather than intimacy. His familiar presence gives you the courage you need to look down into the coffin's mouth.

The tears choke your throat.

Rachel rests inside the white silk interior, hands folded at her abdomen.

Her skin is pale. Paler than you've ever seen it. The golden tan to her skin lost in the pallor of death. It stands out shockingly against the black fabric of the dress Rachel wore at Sectionals your Sophomore year, the crimson hue of the sash bringing to mind a faint reminder of blood.

Her bangs part at the center of her forehead, dark eyelashes and pale lids closed over those wonderful eyes.

The blackness of several stitches stands out against the stark whiteness of Rachel's throat, the only indication of Rachel's struggle to survive. Had it not been there, you might have thought she was sleeping.

You curse silently beneath your breath, reaching a trembling hand into the coffin to press a soft hand against a stone cold cheek, rubbing softly atop her cheek bone.

Because, fuck it if Rachel Berry isn't as _beautiful_ in death as she was in life.

"Rachel…" you whisper softly, hazel eyes locked on that peaceful, slumbering face. "Oh God...Rachel… I'm so sorry…"

But your words fall on deaf ears. Rachel does not move, nor does she warm at your touch. She remains lying on that soft, silk pillow, hands still folded neatly across her stomach.

Your free hand fumbles inside the pocket of your cardigan as you kneel beside the small silver thing, pulling a small, velvet box from the confines.

You draw your touch away from Rachel's cheek and fumble with the lid, hands shaking as you wrestle it open. A flash of gold glints in the faint light of the funeral parlor.

"I-I…" you swallow heavily, fighting back a drove of tears. "I heard that gold stars were your thing… s-so…" The words fall to silence as you lift a fine chain from its box, the small charm at the end sparkling faintly in the sparse glow.

You'd picked it up the other day with Santana and Brittany as you shopped for your funeral dresses. The small necklace sat in the window of the local jeweler and brought warmth to your heart.

Rachel would have _loved_ it…

Why couldn't she have it _now_?

It dangles between your fingers, sending small rays across Rachel's pale face. You can imagine the delight in her eyes, the blush of thanks across her cheeks.

…Imagine, but _never_ see.

Your eyes flicker to one of Rachel's fathers, standing at the head of the coffin, gray eyes stricken with sorrow.

Leroy Berry merely nods his permission, trying his utmost to smile in gratitude. Beside him, Hiram Berry stands, lost in a stupor, lifeless brown eyes glazed.

You unlatch the clasp, reaching about Rachel's neck and fastening it with trembling hands. You straighten the gold star to cover the center of her chest, just as Rachel herself might wear it were she still alive.

"Quinn?"

The soft, deep voice of Rachel's father draws your attention back to silver eyes.

He puts a hand to your shoulder as you pull yourself to your feet.

"Thank you," the kindness is genuine. You can see him hesitate before he speaks the next sentence. "You… you meant a lot to her, you know."

"She said you were one of her greatest friends."

Those words lessen the pain of Rachel's passing a little. Your eyes soften as you look down upon Rachel with fond, melancholy affection.

"I…" you swallow the next two words, searching your brain for new ones. "…She was _my_ best friend too."

The hours at the parlor pass quickly and soon the silver lid is lowered over Rachel's sleeping face and the locks are fastened shut for the last time.

The next day at the funeral, that small coffin makes its way down the aisle, hoisted over the shoulders of Rachel's fathers and all the Glee Club boys.

Rachel's funeral is _filled_ with people you've never seen before, brought together by her kindness and talent.

You meet cousins, uncles, aunts, and _friends_ Rachel never had the chance to speak of.

All of them speak of Rachel's larger than life presence, of their _love_ for her…

Your heart throbs a bit, because you can _never_ really say how _you_ feel.

You never got the chance.

They bury her in a cloister, slipping her inside a wall with two blank spots next to her (Leroy and Hiram have already bought them out).

Puck and Leroy gently lift her up and slide the coffin into the wall, stepping away and allowing the rabbi to murmur prayers as workmen seal up the hole with several slabs of marble.

Finn's cheeks are wet with tears, Kurt sobbing into Blaine's tuxedo.

Everyone seems to be at various levels of grief.

But your heart, though pained, is silent. Your cheeks are dry as steam puffs out from your mouth and into the frigid Lima air.

You stand there long after everyone has gone till you stand before Rachel's wall, a lone Gardenia wrapped in the warmth of your palm.

Your tongue comes out to trace your lips as you try to smile.

"You…" you choke on your words briefly. You fight against the tears. "You really knew how to go out with a bang, Rachel."

"Everyone's going to miss you," you swallow heavily. "_I'm _going to miss you. But I'll come and visit you as often as I can… Update you on our progress this year."

"We're going to take Sectionals," you continue. "Sectionals, Regionals… Hell, we'll take it all. Don't worry about us, okay? We'll make sure Vocal Adrenaline doesn't beat us. We'll make you proud."

You step forward and hold up the flower to the solid marble. "I… I brought you a flower… Just like the one you gave me." You chuckle. "I never got to thank you for that."

"Finn spilled the other day… I… I want to thank you for it," you say slowly. "It… It was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. I should've _known_ it was you. There was no way Finn could've gotten something so perfect…"

You place it in the bronze flower vase. A soft shade of green enters your eyes.

"Then again… it seems like you were behind _everything_ that went right in my life."

You draw in a shaking breath before closing hazel orbs. "Gardenias… they mean… they mean 'secret love,' you know?"

Tears drip down pale cheeks. "I-I… I don't know if you _meant_ it or not… I'll _never_ really know, you know? But… I-I feel like I just need to tell you that…" You draw in a heaving breath. "I loved… I _love_ you, Rachel."

"You were so good to me, no matter what I did to you. You were the only person who cared about me, and I repaid you with slushies and terrible names," you place a trembling hand on the smooth stone. "I hope you can forgive me for it..."

"You changed my life. You told me I was better than I actually am," fingers trace the R slowly. "You made me believe that I could be something amazing… _perfect_. You gave me the power to get out of this place."

You laugh slowly. "I-I… I'm going to Yale, Rachel. I'm going to go into the Drama program and I'm going to be an actress. I'm not as good as you are… But I'm going to _try_ for you. I'm going to make it for myself… and for _you_."

Your hand falls to your side as you bow your head slowly. "I'm never going to forget you, Rachel Berry."

"I love you, Rachel," you smile tears falling freely now. "I love you... goodbye for now."

You pivot on your heel and make your way into the snow, away from a slumbering Rachel with renewed determination and pain stinging in your heart.

Eight years later, when you hold your first Oscar in your hand, you smile at the camera and hold up the small statuette with salty trails kissing the mascara from your eyes.

"This is for _you_, Rachel," you say holding it up. The gold gives a responding gleam in the bright lights of stage. "I'm on my way… _we're_ on our way."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Please leave a comment. I'd love to hear what you think.


End file.
